


Trial by Fire

by asongforjonsa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Childbirth, Cunnilingus, Dragons, Evil Daenerys, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Just working out my feelings okay, Love, Politics, Pregnancy, Rage, Slow Burn, Smut, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 18,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongforjonsa/pseuds/asongforjonsa
Summary: Daenerys is enraged to discover the truth of Jon's parentage.





	1. Chapter 1

“That is IMPOSSIBLE!” Daenerys roared. She stood up so quickly and with such ferocity it knocked her chair over. 

“How DARE you make this story up, just to gain independence for the North. How pathetic you Northerners are,” she snarled. 

Jon, Arya and Sansa were on their feet now as well.

Bran said in his monotone voice, “It is true, your Grace.”

“And I’m supposed to take the word of a failed Maester and a cripple, eh?” She spat. 

Jon clenched his fist and started to move towards Daenerys as if to strike her. Sansa grabbed his arm; she didn’t want this to escalate further.

The room descended into chaos: Arya lunged at Daenerys but was restrained by Sam; Brienne burst through the door with her sword drawn; Missandei hustled out of the room; and Daenerys stood there laughing. 

“I should have known to expect this. Everyone always tells me you Northerners are too wild for your own good. No better than the Wildlings you’ve spat upon for thousands of years.” 

“That is enough, Daenerys,” Jon growled. “I did not know this information until now-”

“And why should I believe that, Jon Snow?” Daenerys asked mockingly. “For all I know, you plotted this with your family from afar. Maybe that’s why you got me into bed, as if you thought my feelings towards you would protect you from my fury.” 

Sansa looked as if she’d been slapped. “You slept with her, Jon? As if giving the North away wasn’t bad enough?” she hissed.

Missandei and Grey Worm appeared, along with several of Daenerys’s Dothraki guards. 

“Well, if that was your intention, Jon Snow, you were gravely mistaken. Take him.” 

The Dothraki moved towards Jon, and Sansa and Arya moved to stand in front of them. Grey Worm stepped towards them, and held Arya, while another Dothraki grabbed Sansa. Sansa and Arya were screaming to let him go, Tyrion was screaming at Daenerys to reconsider, and Daenerys was shouting instructions in Dothraki. 

When they successfully subdued Sansa and Arya, and had Jon in custody, Daenerys gave them an evil smile. 

“Let’s see if this bastard really is a Targaryen. Take him outside.” 

The Dothraki dragged Jon out to the field outside Winterfell, with Sansa running behind them screaming. Grey Worm had his hands full with Arya, who, despite all her training, could not escape the strength of the Unsullied commander. 

Brienne, Missandei, Tyrion, and Bran followed suit. Tormund and Ser Davos had joined the fray, and sprinted out to the field. 

Daenerys strolled out behind all of them, and summoned Drogon. 

More Dothraki guards were called, and restrained Sansa and Ser Davos, while Brienne and Tormund tried to fight off others. 

Everyone stood still when Drogon landed, screeching. After only a second of silence, Sansa started screaming like she had when Joffrey was about to have her lord father executed. 

Jon hit his knees in front of the dragon, and looked over at Sansa, with sorrow and apologies in his eyes. She was the last person he wanted as a witness to his death, not after all she’d suffered and the comfort they’d found in one another. 

Daenerys stood beside Drogon and shouted. “Jon Snow, you have been found guilty of treason against your queen, and you are sentenced to death. Dracarys.”  
But Drogon wouldn’t fire. He looked at Jon, then his mother, and refused. 

Daenerys was astonished. “Drogon? DRACARYS.” Again, he refused. 

She stood in front of him, and stared in his eyes. “I said, DRACARYS!” She jumped out of the way just in time, as the dragon let the fire spill forth after the third order. 

Sansa fell to the ground, screaming and crying as she saw the man she loved more than anyone engulfed in flames. 

But Jon didn’t die. His shouted, and his clothes burned off, but eventually the fire simply… went out. He was still on his knees, naked, and shaking, but whole. 

Sansa finally broke free of the Dothraki guards holding her, and ran to Jon and threw her arms around him, sobbing. “JON! Oh gods, Jon, are you alright? JON!” 

Jon was in shock, but Sansa’s arms around him snapped him out of it. He started to cry too as he buried his face in her hair. 

“Sansa. It’s alright, I’ll never leave you. I promise. I love you, I’m right here. I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate aftermath

Jon couldn’t stop shaking. Sansa’s arms were still wrapped around him as she sobbed hysterically, and he couldn’t seem to move. 

All around him, there was chaos. 

Arya took advantage of Grey Worm’s distraction and broke free, running to Jon’s side. She checked to make sure he was alright, then turned her eyes towards the Dragon Queen. 

Daenerys was visibly shaken. Drogon had disobeyed her, and once he spat out the smallest bit of fire, he flew off. Rhaegal flew overhead screeching, clearly agitated. 

Brienne and Tormund fought off the Dothraki around the Starks, and stood with the Knights of the Vale and Wildlings who raced out. They formed a circle around their monarch, who was naked and shaking as he knelt in the now charred grass. 

Jon finally moved his arms, and embraced Sansa. “Shh, Sansa, it’s alright. I’m right here.” 

Sansa caught her breath and looked at her brother- no, not brother. He was her cousin, and all the feelings she had been fighting since they retook Winterfell came spilling out as she watched him almost die. 

Daenerys stood alone after Drogon took off, and the Dothraki and Unsullied moved to circle around her. Ser Jorah had come racing out of the castle when he heard the commotion, and he stood beside her.

The two armies stood across from each other, menacing and quiet, waiting for commands. The only sounds to be heard were the dragons overhead, and Sansa’s quiet sobs. 

All of a sudden, Tormund yelled, “SEIZE HER!” and the army of the North started to move towards the army of the South. 

Jon stood, and shouted, “NO, STOP!” Sansa stood with him, and covered him with her cloak. 

He couldn’t let this coalition tear itself apart, not with the Night King advancing on Winterfell. 

The soldiers stopped briefly, rage boiling across their faces. That dragon bitch tried to kill their king, and she would pay. 

Before Jon could give more commands, Rhaegal and Drogon started circling around the melee. Rhaegal landed behind Jon, and Drogon behind Daenerys. The two dragons started screeching at each other, and it became clear that Rhaegal had chosen a new master. 

Tyrion, Missandei and Grey Worm finally made their way to stand with their visibly shaken queen and Ser Jorah. The rage had been replaced by dismay and sadness. How had she just lost another child? 

Jon and Sansa braced themselves, waiting for the dragon queen to make a move. They knew they couldn’t arrest or kill her; they needed her army too desperately. 

Daenerys’s eyes flashed over the two of them, arms around one another, and was suddenly filled with fury again. She started to order the Dothraki, but Ser Jorah grabbed her before she could finish, turning her to look him in the eyes. 

Daenerys was astonished; Ser Jorah had never acted this way before. She could see it in his eyes: for the first time, he was afraid of her. 

“Khaleesi, please, do not do this. We need their army if we are going to survive. We have to defeat the Night King before you can sit on the Iron Throne, and we cannot do that without the North.” 

“Unhand me, Ser!” she exclaimed, but he refused. 

“Daenerys,” he growled. “You cannot do this. I know I swore to serve you, but you will lose everything if you attempt to take on the North.” 

Fury flashed in her eyes, this time directed at him, as she yanked her arm away. “Fine, Ser Jorah. I’ll look weak instead. Are you happy now?” He started to reply, but stopped as he saw Lady Sansa walking across the scorched field. 

Jon stayed behind the line of the Northern army, after unsuccessfully trying to stop Sansa from walking towards the dragon queen.

“Daenerys Targaryen!” she shouted as she approached. “You are a guest in the North, your Grace, but do not presume to think your safety is guaranteed if you threaten our monarch!” 

Daenerys looked around her. Her heart sank as she saw the armies standing off, the fear and anger in everyone’s eyes, and she knew she had made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the feedback on the first chapter! I had intended for this to be a one-shot, but as long as you're interested, I'll see where the story takes me. 
> 
> Tumblr: https://asongforjonsa.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys tries to save face

Sansa continued to walk across the scorched earth, seemingly unafraid of the dragons on opposite sides.

Daenerys turned to her advisors and asked in a hushed tone, “How do we resolve this? I need them to get over this quickly but I cannot look weak by apologizing.”

Tyrion looked grim, but said, “I'll speak to Lady Sansa, your Grace. Hopefully my former wife still bears some kindness towards me.”

“Very well,” Daenerys nodded.

Tyrion took a deep breath and started towards Sansa. She raised an eyebrow but continued walking.

She spoke first. “Does your queen intend to die in the north, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion fought back a laugh. His lady wife had grown strong and bold, and it was a sight to see.

“No, my lady.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Then what exactly was she thinking, my lord? She tried to KILL HIM!” her voice raising to a yell.

Tyrion leaned in and said, “My lady, please, let us discuss this in private. We need to diffuse this situation before our armies start fighting each other.”

Sansa looked around, and agreed with a sigh. “Alright, my lord.”

She turned to the crowd that had gathered.

“Every man and woman fighting for the north and Vale is commanded to stand down. This egregious act will not go without punishment, I can assure you. But your king orders you to stand down.”

Tyrion turned to Daenerys and nodded. She commanded the Dothraki and Unsullied to stand down as well.

The dragons, seemingly satisfied that their masters were no longer in danger, took off.

Tyrion turned back to Sansa, and asked, “Could we speak in private, my lady?”

“Once I have tended to his grace, my lord, yes. I shall send for you.”

With that, Sansa returned to Jon, and walked him back into the castle. Sansa took one arm, Arya the other.

Jon was still too shaken to say much, but he mumbled something about ruining Sansa's cloak. She silenced him with a stern look.

As they approached the castle, Ghost came hurtling towards them. He would've tackled Jon had Sansa not stepped between them. He must've chewed through the door to the room she'd put him in. 

She sorely regretted her decision to keep him locked away during the initial meeting. She feared he would try to hurt the dragon queen if he sensed a threat. Gods, how she wished she had let him stay free.

The group trudged up to Jon's chambers, and Sansa ordered Jon to drop the cloak.

“Sansa, please-”

“Stop it, Jon. You don't have a squire, and I won't have some silly handmaid take care of my brother... ahem, cousin. Now drop it.”

Arya excused herself; she knew Sansa had considered suggesting to Jon that they marry to secure the north, but to Arya he was still her big brother, and she wanted no part in seeing him naked.

Jon finally complied with Sansa's command, and she let out a whimper. He may have been spared a fiery death, but he was quite covered in ashes. She could still make out a number of scars on his chest, which made her heart squeeze. She hadn't seen them before, and she silently cursed the souls of the men who did this to Jon.

“Sansa, I do not want a hot bath right now. I was just on fire.”

Sansa gave him an annoyed look. “Do you see me summoning a maid to draw you a bath? Sit on that chair.”

Jon found her bossiness strangely compelling, and decided it would be best to not resist.

Sansa took a wash cloth and dipped it in cool water. She stood before him, and started to wipe the soot from his chest. She went slowly, not wanting to aggravate his skin.

Sansa wanted to cry, to scream, to murder that dragon bitch with her own hands. Arya could teach her how, surely nobody in the north would mind....

Jon sighed, snapping her out of her murderous reverie.

“I'm sorry Sansa.” 

His eyes searched for hers, but she kept them firmly fixed on his chest. 

“I’m not angry with you. For once, Jon Snow, your injuries were not the result of a stupid decision you made. That was her decision.” 

She finally met his eyes, and all the emotions she’d tried to bottle up for the sake of appearances came spilling out. Before she knew what she was doing, her lips were upon Jon’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys! Your comments have seriously made my life. Thank you so much!
> 
> Hope this didn't disappoint!! I'll keep going for sure :) 
> 
> Tumblr: https://asongforjonsa.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tyrion attempt to come to a resolution. Oh, and more kissing.

Hot tears spilled down Sansa’s cheeks as she kissed Jon. It was gentle, the first kiss she placed upon his lips, almost as if she were asking him a question. 

Jon responded in kind, moving his right hand to cradle her face, and gently pressing his lips against hers. She whimpered when their lips parted, but he went to kiss away her tears and she sighed happily. Jon pulled her into his lap, and met her bright blue eyes. His heart broke to see the fear and sadness in them. 

Sansa leaned in to kiss him again, a little harder this time. He opened his mouth to let out a soft moan, and she seized the opportunity to dart her tongue and swirl it around his. Jon could feel himself getting hard, and he didn’t want her to feel that. “She’s been through so much,” he thought. “Just let her have this moment without fear.” He had wanted her for so long, it killed him to go so slowly, but he was determined to not scare her off.

He gently broke the kiss, whispering her name. She searched his face, looking for answers to questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask. 

Jon kissed her forehead, and mumbled something about wanting to rest. 

Sansa felt slightly rejected, but her cousin had been through a tremendous ordeal, and she did not want to make him feel worse than he already did. She stood, and wiped him down a bit more, before taking him by the hand and walking him to his bed. She tried with all her might to not look down, but she couldn’t ignore how hard his member was. 

Sansa tucked him in, ignoring the dull ache in her center, and the overwhelming urge she felt to strip naked and climb into bed with him. Ghost settled onto the bed next to Jon, never intending to be separated from his master again. She smiled softly and leaned in to kiss Jon’s lips quickly one last time before hurrying out of the room.

She rushed to her chambers, and slammed the door shut, throwing herself on the bed. She let the sobs wrack her body, as she finally allowed her Lady of Winterfell mask to drop completely. 

A rustling sound startled her out of her misery. Arya seemed to appear out of nowhere, silent as a ghost. She sat on the bed, and when their eyes met, Sansa could see murder in her little sister’s eyes. She sniffled loudly, and sat up to compose herself.

“Sansa,” Arya started, before Sansa cut her off. “No, Arya. You cannot kill the dragon queen. This is an incredibly delicate situation, and it has to be resolved diplomatically.” 

“Sansa!” Arya shouted. “She tried to kill Jon!” 

“I know, and she will be punished. I promise you that. But we’re going to have to be strategic about it. Imagine if we had been impulsive about Littlefinger instead of methodical? I know it’s not as immediately satisfying, but that… woman… will be dealt with.” 

Arya rolled her eyes and got off the bed. “Tyrion Lannister is waiting to speak with you. Shall I have him let into your solar?” 

Sansa sighed. She didn’t feel ready to speak to her former husband quite yet, but it had to be done. “Very well.” 

~~~

Tyrion sat across from Sansa in her solar, trying hard not to gape at his long-lost wife. She had grown even more beautiful, but there was a distinct toughness about it. Her eyes were still the same Tully blue he remembered, but there was something behind them: hardness. 

He knew their time apart had not been kind to her. He felt sick, remembering the rumors he’d heard about her marriage to Ramsay Bolton, but also a little proud that she had taken that horrific nightmare and grown into the fierce, strong, proud woman that sat before him now.

“My lady, please, allow me to apologize on behalf of her grace,” Tyrion started cautiously. 

“How can you serve her, Tyrion?” She asked quietly. He was a little taken aback at her familiarity, yet glad for it. He hoped that meant she might still harbor some small piece of respect and kindness towards him. 

“My lady, I…” 

She interrupted. “You may call me Sansa in private, Tyrion, you were my husband once after all.” 

“Thank you, Sansa.” Tyrion sighed. “I cannot quite explain what happened earlier, and I do not know exactly how to resolve this problem. I’ve been told that you have turned into quite the political expert.” 

“I learned from some of the best, and I intend to use that knowledge for good instead of the evil they used it for,” she said drily. He knew she was referring to Littlefinger and Cersei; hopefully she did not include him in that group. 

“This was not her first time losing her temper, was it?” Sansa asked cautiously. She knew Tyrion to be a loyal man, and doubted he would speak ill against his queen. 

“No. No it was not. She has the blood of the dragon, that is to be sure… But it’s never been to this scale. I’ll admit, I’m a little… ah, afraid, I suppose, that this could be a problem right now and in the future,” he said quietly.

Sansa leaned back in her chair and sighed. 

“Do you think she has the makings of the mad queen?” 

Tyrion swallowed hard before replying: “I pray to all the gods that she does not.” 

They sat in silence, pondering what that could mean for the realm, another mad monarch on the Iron Throne. Westeros survived the Mad King, Robert Baratheon, the Lannister bastards, and Cersei Lannister herself, but Sansa was not sure it could deal with a Mad Queen. 

Tyrion at last spoke up. “Whether she does or not, our forces need to work together if we are going to defeat the Night King. I believe the two of us can work out some sort of an arrangement that will allow those involved to forgive and forget.” 

Sansa chuckled. “My dear lord Tyrion, you seem to have forgotten where you are. The North may forgive, but until the end of time, the North remembers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously the best. I am absolutely blown away by all the love this is getting! Thank you from the bottom of my little Jonsa-loving heart :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa, Jon and Daenerys move towards a resolution.

Sansa stood and thanked Lord Tyrion for his time and input once their meeting was concluded. She was in a hurry to get back to Jon’s bedside. 

Sansa was grateful that the dragon woman’s chambers were on the opposite end of the keep. She felt a little torn, though, for she did wish she could hear that woman’s reactions to her demands, but Jon was far more important.

“Besides,” Sansa thought with a sly grin, “I have a feeling I’ll get to see another demonstration of Targaryen fury when I watch her acquiesce to my demands.” 

She crept back into Jon’s room, and was relieved to find him asleep. Ghost had moved to a spot in front of the fire, and Sansa contemplated lying down next to Jon. He was facing away from her, and she needed to see his face, to make sure he was alright. 

She took off her cloak, and laid on top of the bed, her face close to Jon’s. He looked so peaceful, like he was far away from his troubles and thoughts of the day’s catastrophe. She pulled a fur over herself, and adjusted the one over Jon. 

Sansa sucked in a deep breath. He was so handsome, her cousin… And she almost lost him to a madwoman. She hoped her demands would be punishment enough, and that Jon would deem them appropriate. She’d sadly learned quite a lot from the Lannisters as far as retribution went, but she was wise enough to know where to draw the line. 

She couldn’t help herself, and she reached to smooth Jon’s gorgeous dark curls from his face. He only stirred a little, so she left her hand resting on his cheek before dozing off herself. It had been an excruciatingly long day, not at all what she had hoped for his return. 

A few hours later, Jon dreamt that he was on fire, but the flames were blue, and the Night King circled around him on Viserion, burning everything. He heard Sansa’s screams in the distance, and he tried to move to save her, but he couldn’t move. 

He woke from the nightmare with a start, and would have bolted out of bed had it not been for Sansa’s hand on his face. He heaved a sigh of relief, seeing her lying there peacefully. He remembered when they first reunited that she told him of the nightmares she would have. He’d slept next to her on occasion when the nightmares were too severe, and he was so grateful to have her here now. He kissed her hand, and moved it so it was resting on his heart, with his hand over it. 

Jon loved Sansa. There was no use denying it. He’d fought against it, and hated himself for it, but the truth was he’d fallen in love with her. 

He wished she would wake up; he had so many things to tell her, so many things to explain. He couldn’t stand the thought of her knowing he’d bent the knee and slept with Daenerys without knowing the reasons behind it… 

Jon wanted to take Sansa in his arms and never let go. He couldn’t help but hope her kiss earlier indicated that she felt the same way, especially now that they knew they were cousins. 

Daenerys mentioned the possibility of her marrying Jon during their trip to Winterfell, but he’d shrugged her off. He couldn’t leave Sansa; even before he knew his true identity, he was determined to never leave her side. Even if he had to watch her marry a lord, and birth his children, he would always watch over her. 

Jon sighed, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t wake her, not yet. There would be time enough to talk in the morning. 

~~~

On the other end of the keep, Daenerys raged at her hand. 

“Absolutely not!” Daenerys exclaimed. “She wishes me to prostrate myself in front of the entire north and beg forgiveness?! Has that ice queen lost her damn mind?”

Tyrion and Ser Jorah looked at each other with exasperation.

“Your Grace, we cannot spend time negotiating this. The Night King is approaching Winterfell, and we need to assemble our forces and prepare,” Tyrion pleaded.

“The North needs us more than we need them, Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys snapped. “If these are her terms, I will march my troops home.”

“Khaleesi, please,” Jorah begged.

He was the only person who still called her Khaleesi. Tyrion was grateful for it, because it's the only time she ever seemed to pause before doing something reckless. Tyrion could counsel and plead, but Jorah saying 'Khaleesi' was guaranteed to stop her, if only for a moment.

Daenerys scowled at Jorah.

“I am the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms, and the North is one of those kingdoms, my lords. Why should I let them separate simply because their feelings are hurt?”

Tyrion glanced at Jorah, nodding. He needed her oldest friend for this.

Jorah took a step towards his queen. “Khaleesi, you did not simply hurt their feelings. You tried to execute the monarch that they chose.”

“He bent the knee!” She exclaimed.

“And then you discovered his true parentage, sensed a threat, and instead of restraining your temper and contemplating your options, you set him on fire!” Jorah was growing increasingly frustrated and it reflected in his tone.

“Do NOT speak to me like I am a child, Ser.”

“Then do not behave like one, your grace!” Daenerys and Jorah turned to Tyrion, shocked at his outburst.

Tyrion continued without hesitation. He had her attention, and he had to make the most of it.

“Your Grace. If you do not accept these terms, and choose to march south, we will all die. The North cannot defeat the army of the dead on its own. First, the North will fall. Then the Riverlands and the Vale, and before long, hundreds of thousands of dead men will be at your door, and it will be too late to stop them. Accept these terms, and be done with it.”

Daenerys shook with rage. She was still mourning the loss of Viserion, and now Rhaegal. And this wolf bitch wanted to take even more from her.

Jorah knelt before Daenerys, and took her hand in his.

“Khaleesi, I know you do not want to show weakness. But that's not what this is; this is about survival. Please, do this to save us all.”

Daenerys stared into her advisor's eyes. They were tired, and there was so much sadness in them. Ser Jorah had been with her for years, and she trusted him above all others.

She sighed, and asked, “How will it happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are honestly the best. Your comments and love make my day/week/life! The next two weeks are absolutely bananas for me, but I'll keep producing content as much as I can :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chapter of fluff. The good stuff comes next :D

Sansa woke to the sound of Ser Davos knocking on Jon’s door. They groaned quietly, in unison, before Jon thanked him for his concern, and said he would come down for breakfast soon.

Jon laid his head back down on his pillow. Sansa was gazing at him, and when their eyes met, it felt like he was being pulled towards her; he simply couldn't resist.

Jon leaned in to kiss her, wrapping his arm around her waist. She sighed softly when their lips met. He lamented that she had fallen asleep fully clothed, and ached to undress her. 

She whined slightly when he broke their kiss. He pulled her towards him, until she was resting on her elbows looking down at him. Jon reached up to stroke the auburn hair framing her face. For a while, they laid there staring at each other. Sansa felt like she was drowning in his dark brown eyes.

Sansa leaned down to kiss him, nipping at his lower lip until he yielded with a moan. They kissed with a ferocity not yet reached, and Sansa could feel her underclothes starting to get wet. "What is that feeling?" she wondered to herself. She had not experienced it before, and worried something might be wrong with her. 

Jon stroked her back with his left hand, and her face with his right. He felt himself getting hard, and tried desperately to will it away. He thought to himself, "It won't go away... Not while I'm in bed with her." He broke the kiss, and started to sit up. 

Sansa felt like crying with frustration. She wanted to throw herself into him, she wanted him to take her, she wanted… him.

She hoped he felt the same way, but without knowing for sure, she did not wish to act. Sansa hated looking like a fool.

What she didn't know is that it was taking all of his self restraint to keep from tearing off her dress and ravaging her. 

Ghost started to whine, and they laughed nervously. "I'll see to him, Jon. Get dressed, and I'll meet you for breakfast."

“Did you speak with Tyrion? Is everything settled? I feel a little lost,” he admitted.

“I did. Everything will be resolved later this afternoon, Jon.” He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her grin wickedly before leaving his room.

She pressed her back against his door, trying to catch her breath. She didn't think she could wait much longer...

~~~

Jon sat at the head table in the great hall with Bran and Arya. The dragon queen and her retinue were conspicuously absent. 

Sansa breezed in, having changed her dress and pinned her hair back.

“Sansa,” Jon started, “Where is her grace?”

“She will not be joining us for meals, Jon. Not yet.” 

Arya laughed. She wanted to make that woman suffer physically, but she had a sense Sansa was going to make her pay emotionally, and that was almost as good.

“Jon, we should spar when you’re feeling better,” Arya said. Jon turned to her, with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re up for the challenge, Arya?” 

The girl he’d considered his favorite sister simply laughed. 

When they'd all eaten, Sansa sent Jon back to his chambers to rest. Truth be told, she simply didn't want him to hear from anyone else what she had planned for later that day. Tyrion sent her word that Daenerys had accepted her terms, and Sansa wanted Jon to be clear of any involvement. She wouldn't have anyone thinking this was his revenge. 

It was for the benefit of the north, of course, but Sansa had taken a personal shot at her as well, and it would not be seen as kingly for him to have been involved.

Sansa was proving true to her reputation as an adept politician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it every chapter, and I'll continue to say it, you guys really blow me away! Thank you for your support :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Punishment

“This is my own walk of punishment,” Daenerys thought to herself bitterly. “If Drogon and Rhaegal weren't disobeying me, I'd have them burn this whole place to the ground.”

Daenerys recognized that her temper was a problem. It had never gone this far before, though, and it frightened her. She'd considered herself in love with Jon Snow not two days ago, yet she didn't bat an eye when she doled out the justice she thought he and his family deserved. “They should've kept this news to themselves, and just let me marry Jon and rule Westeros with him,” she thought.

She had been so happy just a few days earlier. She felt certain that if they survived the war with the Night King, she and Jon would defeat Cersei, take the Iron Throne, and live out their days in love and happiness. And now... that was all gone.

Daenerys made her way to the great hall at the appointed hour, with her advisors and guards in tow, as well as the leaders of the Unsullied and Dothraki.

Sansa had gathered the lords of the North, Vale and Riverlands, as well as the leaders of the Wildlings, and informed them of Jon’s parentage before Daenerys was set to arrive. There had been a great commotion, with Lord Royce being the loudest. He argued that Sansa should be the Queen in the North, not a Targaryen. Sansa urged them all to wait to pass judgment, and to listen to Daenerys. 

Jon, Sansa, Arya and Bran were seated at the head table. Daenerys stood to the right of the table, slightly in front of them. She felt nauseated, and would not have been surprised if her pale skin had a tint of green to it. 

Everyone in the room went silent. Jon saw the look on Daenerys’s face, and leaned in to Sansa. “Sansa,” he whispered, “What did you do?” Sansa simply patted his hand and smiled softly. 

Daenerys cleared her throat. “The sooner you start, the sooner it will be over,” she thought. 

“My lords, my ladies. I am here to apologize for the events of the last day.” 

She grimaced, and moved to stand in front of the head table. She knelt before the family, and lowered her eyes to the floor. “I humbly beg forgiveness for my actions. I hope you will find it in your hearts to forgive me.” 

Jon, visibly shaken by the sight of her on her knees, nodded, and indicated for her to rise, which she did, gratefully.

Daenerys turned towards the crowd. She sighed before continuing: “All of us need to work together to stop the Night King. We cannot do this as long as there is animosity between our armies. In order to ease the tension, and as recompense for my mistakes, I am prepared to make the following concessions.” 

Everyone leaned in, eager to hear what she had to say. 

“I formally recognize Jon Snow as the legitimate son of my brother, Rhaegar Targaryen, and Lyanna Stark. I name him my heir, until I produce a child.” 

Some of the lords and ladies let out grumbles. 

Daenerys took a deep breath before continuing. This part was going to hurt. 

“I officially recognize the North as an independent kingdom. From now until the end of time, the North, as well as the Riverlands and the Vale, will belong to Jon Snow and the Starks of Winterfell.” 

There were gasps throughout the crowd. Jon’s jaw hit the floor. Sansa smiled at him, loving the astonished look on his face.

Daenerys felt bile rising in her throat, and cleared it desperately. 

“And finally, I wholeheartedly endorse…” her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath. “I endorse the marriage of Lady Sansa Stark to Lord Jon Snow, if both parties wish it. Lord Jon and Lady Sansa, should they choose, will marry, continue the Stark line, and rule as equals: the King and Queen in the North.” 

The room went silent as a crypt, until Tormund and the Wildlings burst into cheers and applause. 

Daenerys nodded her head at the Starks, and hurried from the room. She refused to let anyone see her cry, and made it to the courtyard before she threw up and burst into tears. 

Back in the great hall, the lords and ladies had erupted into cheers of “King and Queen in the North!” and “The White Wolf and the Red Wolf are one!” 

Jon sat there, with his hand over his mouth, for what felt like an eternity, until Sansa took that hand and kissed it. Jon broke out of his trance, and took Sansa’s face in his hands, kissing her deeply, to the roars of the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn't disappoint! I wanted to walk a fine line; not too severe, but harsh enough to send a message. 
> 
> Please keep giving feedback, it's really helpful! Thank you all :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Private celebrations ensue

As the celebration roared around them, all Jon could do was stare at Sansa. The servants brought mead and wine to toast the official recognition of the North's independence. 

Finally, Sansa could tell Jon was getting antsy, and excused them from the great hall. They held hands as she led him to her room, with Ghost close behind. Jon commanded his wolf to stay outside, and once the door was closed, Jon swept Sansa up in his arms, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank you, Sansa,” he whispered. She leaned up to kiss him, but only got to taste his lips for a moment before he strode over to the bed and set her down beside it. 

Jon stroked Sansa’s cheek, and she closed her eyes, smiling happily. She expected him to kiss her again, but instead, he went to remove her cloak, then he started to unlace her dress. Sansa’s eyes flew open. “Is it really happening? I’ve wanted this for so long!” she thought to herself. 

Jon lifted Sansa’s dress over her head, so all she remained in was her shift. She started to unlace his breeches as he pulled his tunic off. 

With their clothes discarded, Jon wrapped his arms around Sansa’s waist, and pulled her towards him. Sansa looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “So, you’re not angry with me?” She asked, a little nervously. She looked at the floor, unsure if she wanted to hear his answer. She thought the demands had been justified...

Jon’s roar of laughter startled her and she tried to jerk back, but he held on tight. He tilted her chin up with his finger so she was staring into his eyes. “No, my darling, of course I’m not angry with you. The only thing I’m angry about is that I did not get to ask you to marry me first!” 

Happy tears sprang from Sansa’s eyes as she broke into a smile from ear to ear. 

“You were going to ask me?” She asked. 

“Yes, Sansa. I still will in fact. Sansa, of House Stark, will you do me the profound honor of being my wife?” 

Sansa laughed and practically yelled, “Yes!” She lept into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and kissed him with such fire, Jon almost thought he was being burned alive again. 

Jon sat on the edge of the bed, with Sansa’s legs still wrapped around him. He tore his lips away from hers only for a moment, to lift the shift over her head. He grazed his thumb over one of her nipples, and took the other into his mouth. Sansa tilted her head back and let out a moan. She couldn’t believe what was happening; the night before, she’d wept for fear of losing Jon. Now, she was naked, straddling him, on what would become their bed. 

Sansa started to grind on Jon’s lap. She could feel how hard he was through his small clothes, and she reached down between them, rubbing against it. Jon moaned and wrapped his teeth around the nipple he’d been sucking. 

Sansa squealed, and grabbed his cock even harder. Jon threw his head back with a loud groan. He grabbed Sansa’s chin and forced her to look at him. She gasped when she saw the fury and passion in his eyes. Jon stood and all but tossed her on the bed, pulled off her small clothes, ripped off his own and climbed on top of her. 

Jon’s lips brushed lightly over Sansa’s before he starting covering her neck with kisses and nibbles. Sansa moaned, and tried to buck her hips against him, but Jon wouldn’t let her. He looked at her with amusement in his eyes. “Wait, sweet Sansa, let me take care of you.” 

Sansa whined a bit, but stopped when she felt Jon’s hand drag lightly through the curly red hair that hid her mound. He teased her, rubbing her bud and sending shockwaves through her body. She started to shake and moan, and he reached up to cover her lips with his, while he worked her through her first orgasm. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight below him: his perfect Sansa, writhing and coming apart at the seams. 

“Jon,” Sansa gasped, “Please!” 

“Just a little longer, my sweet.” Jon grinned at Sansa’s frustrated noises. 

He lowered himself down her body, and lifted her legs over his shoulders. She leaned up on her elbows, curious as to what he was about to do. She shivered when he parted her lips, and arched her back with a loud moan as he kissed that ultra-sensitive bud. 

Sansa grasped his dark curls, and tried to thrust up into his face. Jon laughed and used his forearm to hold her down. Sansa mewled and whimpered as another orgasm washed over her. 

She grabbed his hair, and pulled him towards her. “Jon Snow, I swear to all the gods, if you do not enter me right now I will call off our wedding!” Jon’s eyes got wide, and he smiled as he leaned in to kiss his demanding love. 

“Very well, Sansa.” 

Jon rested over her, propping himself up with his elbows, as he slowly inched himself inside her. Sansa cried out, and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could possibly go. Jon wrapped his arms under Sansa’s back, and buried his face in her neck. 

“Oh, Gods, Sansa, you’re so tight,” Jon groaned. He nipped at her ear, and his feverish panting sent shivers up her spine.

“Fuck, Jon, oh gods,” Sansa whimpered. Jon laughed, he’d never heard her swear before. He’d started out slowly, but he began to thrust into her with abandon. It wasn’t long before both were crying out, reaching their peak at the same time. 

Jon collapsed on top of his sweet wife-to-be. He never wanted to leave the bed, nor would he ever leave Sansa’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy they finally boned! I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but I love how enthusiastic you all are. Thank you so much :)


	9. Chapter 9

The wedding was held two days after the announcement, with the armies set to depart five days after that. 

Sansa and Jon wasted no time trying to get her with child, coupling multiple times per day. If Jon did not return from the war, he wanted Sansa to have a piece of him to hold onto, and for the Stark line to continue.

The wedding was not as grand as they might have hoped; winter was here, and they needed to reserve as much food as they could. 

Arya walked Sansa out to the godswood the night of the wedding. Sansa had chosen the green dress with ‘the wolf bit’ that Jon had admired when they left Castle Black, and Arya shocked her by agreeing to wear a dress. At first, Sansa checked her forehead to see if she had a fever. Arya playfully swatted Sansa’s hand away and said the dress had to be black or she wouldn't wear it. Sansa found an old one of hers that she altered for her little sister, and added a small ‘wolf bit’ to match.

Jon stood beneath the heart tree, with Sam by his side. Lord Royce, Lyanna Mormont, Brienne, Bran, Gilly, and Gendry lined the left side of the aisle they'd created, with Ser Davos, Tormund, Daenerys, Tyrion, Ser Jorah and Missandei lining the opposite side. 

Jon gasped quietly when he saw Sansa. Her hair was styled simply, with half of it pulled back in a braid. Her crown, a slender circlet made of hammered bronze and dotted with a pearl in the middle, adorned the top of her head, and her gorgeous auburn hair fanned across her shoulders. The pearl had been a gift from Daenerys, and came from a piece of her jewelry; a goodwill gesture that Tyrion had no doubt suggested.

There had been some grumbling about Arya escorting Sansa, and those who grumbled were not invited to the ceremony. Sansa did not know this yet, but Arya intended to ask her later if she could be appointed to her Queensguard. 

Jon had commissioned a crown for himself as well, styled like the crowns worn by the Kings of Winter, and most recently, his cousin Robb. The Direwolf in the center was meant to represent that his allegiance would forever remain with House Stark.

Jon wore a simple outfit, black breeches and a black boiled leather tunic, and the cloak Sansa made him which he so adored, which she had styled to look like her lord father’s.

Sansa and Arya made their way to the heart tree, and Sam performed the ceremony. Sansa had endured two previous marriage ceremonies, and even though her second marriage was horrifying, she much preferred the heart tree tradition. 

As soon as Sansa said, “I take this man,” Jon swept her into his arms, and kissed her. Although it was a serious occasion, representing the unification of the North, there was a festive atmosphere, especially for the Starks. 

~~~

The group returned to the great hall, where they were joined by additional lords of the Vale, the Riverlands, the North, and a small group of Wildlings, Dothraki and Unsullied. They feasted on honeyed chicken, fresh baked bread, and Dornish wine; a small barrel had been discovered during the restoration of the castle, and Sansa had the foresight to save it for a special occasion. 

Once the main course had been finished, Daenerys stood, and offered a polite toast to the bride and groom. 

“King Jon, Queen Sansa. I wish my hearty congratulations to the both of you on this auspicious day. May the both of you live long lives and produce many children. To the King and Queen in the North!” 

After Daenerys offered her toast, dessert was brought out. Sansa had insisted there was no need for it, but Jon secretly ordered the cooks to bake lemon cakes. 

When the servants brought the tray to the table, she gave him a confused look, to which he simply replied, “Well, my love, it wouldn’t be your wedding without lemon cakes, would it?” 

Sansa laughed and took Jon’s face in her hands, kissing him sweetly and deeply. She rested her forehead against his, as Tormund led the crowd in cheers. “I love you, Sansa,” Jon whispered. He raised his head so he could stare into her blue eyes, before kissing her again. 

Arya did her best to keep from gagging, but seeing her cousin and sister like this was almost too much to bear. She motioned to Gendry to come up to the table, which he did, bowing his head quickly to his king and queen, who were too wrapped up in each other to notice. 

Gendry smiled at Arya; it had been so wonderful to reunite with her, and they’d spent the last week together, catching up and trying to make up for lost time. Arya had looked like she wanted to kiss him the night before, but hesitated. Gendry decided that he would kiss her tonight, whether she liked it or not.

“Isn’t it time to start dancing?” Arya whined quietly. 

“Why, milady, I didn’t think you were much for dancing!” Gendry teased. Arya poked him sharply, and gave him a withering glare. She hated being called milady, and he knew it. 

“I’d rather start dancing, if it means I have something to do other than watch those two stare stupidly into each other’s eyes!” Arya insisted. 

Gendry laughed, and went to speak with the servants and musicians. 

Jon and Sansa finally broke out of their trance when they heard the tables being moved to make room for a dance floor. 

Sansa stood, and Jon rose to stand slightly behind her. He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, and whispered into her ear, “I’d much rather dance with you in bed, wife.” He bit her earlobe and she shivered, goosebumps covering her from head to toe. He noticed and took advantage, kissing the back of her neck slowly, his hot breath causing her to shiver more and flush bright red. 

She turned her head to kiss him, and whispered in his ear, “Soon, my King. We should at least give our guests a dance or two. I’ll make it worth your wait.” Sansa reached behind her, and brushed her hand over Jon’s increasingly hardening cock. Jon groaned, and prayed nobody was watching them. 

Jon lasted exactly two dances before pinching Sansa’s behind in impatience. Sansa squealed, and turned red, but she took the hint. They returned to the dais, and excused themselves. 

“It’s about time,” Jon whined as they left the great hall. He swept her up in his arms again, and strode towards their chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me! My best friend is getting married this weekend, and MOH stuff has kept me crazy busy!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consummation

Sansa and Jon stripped naked as soon as they got back to their chambers. Jon looked like he was about to pick her up again, but she put a hand on his chest to stop him. 

“Sansa?” He asked, worriedly. 

She stepped towards him, so they were chest to chest, and kissed him languidly, sucking on his bottom lip and rubbing her hands over his back. She grabbed his chiseled ass, and squeezed hard, making Jon gasp. 

Sansa broke away from his lips, and smiled coyly, reaching down to grab his throbbing cock. Jon groaned and closed his eyes. 

“Look at me, Jon. You need to keep your eyes on me.” Sansa commanded. His eyes flew open, surprised at her demands, but interested to see where this would lead. 

She slowly stroked her hand up and down his cock, spreading the precum that had gathered at the tip. Jon fought his urge to close his eyes, and continued to stare into Sansa’s. 

Slowly, she backed him up to the bed, and ordered him to lie down, before climbing on top of him. Sansa continued to stroke his member slowly as she kissed and licked and nibbled and nuzzled her way down.

She flicked her eyes up towards his, and smiled at how wide they were, before she took him inside her mouth in one move. 

“FUCK!” Jon yelled. Sansa smiled to herself. She’d sought out a couple Wildling women for advice the day before. She was relieved that the intense awkwardness of asking Gilly to assist her in finding these women was worth all the trouble.

Sansa hummed, and reached up to stroke his balls. She slowly slid slid her mouth off of his cock, and licked the tip gently. Jon had closed his eyes briefly, and she had to sternly remind him to keep looking at her. 

“I want you to remember this sight once you’ve left, my King,” she murmured huskily. Jon couldn’t reply other than a grunt of approval. He reached up to stroke Sansa’s hair, and tangled his hands in it. 

Sansa went back to her ministrations, sliding his cock in and out of her mouth, humming, licking, sucking, until she worked up the courage to try something the Wildling women had suggested. She relaxed her throat, and started to slide his length down. The women had told her breathing through her nose was essential, and that if she kept playing with his balls, he’d finish quickly and be putty in her hands forever. 

Jon couldn’t help but moan loudly. He wanted to whisper encouraging words to her, but his brain seemed frozen. He’d heard his brothers at Castle Black talk about this, but he never thought his precious, proper lady wife would be the one to do it to him. He released his grasp on her hair; he didn’t want to force her head down and make her choke.

Sansa took him as deep as she could, only gagging once before continuing. When she started to hum and moan, it was more than Jon could take. He tried to pull out of her mouth, but she looked up at him and shook her head. She wanted him to fill her mouth with his seed, and he couldn’t help but comply. She swallowed it all, and as she slid his cock out of her mouth, she greedily licked it to make sure she didn’t miss any. 

Jon just laid there, unable to think or move, as Sansa slid her way up his body, laying on top of him. She rested her head on his chest, and looked up at him happily. She rested her legs on both sides of his, and started to grind on him. 

That shook Jon out of his trance. “Sansa, gods, your… your cunt is so wet.” He and Sansa turned bright red at his use of that word, but she decided she liked it. She slid herself up and down his leg faster, before he flipped her over and took over, stroking her quickly through her first orgasm. 

He felt himself growing hard again, and Sansa took notice, and moaned loudly. “Jon, please, please fuck me.” He’d wanted to taste her again, but the way she was wriggling against his hand and whimpering into his mouth was more than he could bear. 

Jon turned her onto her stomach, and laid on top of her, spreading her legs with his hand and slipping his fingers inside her. He murmured filthy things in her ear, and it sent chills up her spine. “You like to suck the cum out of my cock, don’t you, dirty girl? That makes you soaking wet, doesn’t it?” 

Sansa cried out as she writhed against his hand. “Jon, please, I’m- Ohhhh,” she mewled as he brought her to another orgasm. Before she even finished shaking, Jon slid inside her, leaning on top of her and continuing to stroke her nub. He pulled her hair away from her neck, and sucked and bit the sensitive flesh behind her ear as he rocked into her. She’d been excruciatingly slow with him, and now he was going to return the favor. 

Sansa hadn’t thought she could bear to be taken from behind again, but she felt so safe with Jon that she didn’t mind. In fact, she loved it; this intimacy and the way he nibbled at her ear and whispered nasty things… Gods, she wanted them to stay like this forever.

Jon kept rocking into her, even as she begged him to speed up. She turned her head enough so he could see her glare, but he just chuckled and kept going. “We’re going to be here all night, sweet girl. You are going to remember this moment too once I’ve left.” 

He picked up the pace just a bit, and started frantically rubbing her nub. She cried out and squealed as she had her third orgasm, her walls clenching down on his cock, until he was pushed over the edge and spilled deep inside her. 

Jon rested his head on Sansa’s shoulder, before rolling off of her and turning her to face him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him. 

“Jon,” she whimpered. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to catch her breath. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how much he meant to her, how he had made her life worth living again, but she couldn’t form the words. 

“I know, Sansa. I love you, too,” he whispered, kissing her nose, then her lips. She felt him growing hard again against her thighs, and raised her left leg over his and whined into his mouth. 

Jon chuckled softly and whispered, “Yes, my darling,” as he slid inside her once more.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa continue their attempts to get her pregnant

Jon continued to stroke in and out of his wife’s wet cunt, holding her tight to his chest as he did. He wanted them as close as humanly possible, and he stroked her hair and peppered her face with kisses. 

Sansa whimpered and whined, moving her hips against Jon’s, trying to get him to pick up the pace, but he refused. “There will be time enough for frenzy, my sweet. Let me make love to you,” he crooned in her ear.

Jon felt his peak approaching, but wouldn’t let himself until Sansa had; he reached down between her legs, stroking her nub. She threw her head back and arched into Jon’s chest; he took the opportunity to bite and suck her neck. “Jon, you’ll leave marks!” she hissed. “Good,” he growled back, “I want everyone to know who you belong to.” 

That made Sansa groan even louder, until Jon felt her muscles clench and she started to wail. Jon rubbed her through another orgasm, then grasped her hips and pinned her to him as he crashed into her, finally erupting inside his beautiful wife.

They clung to each other as they caught their breath, before drifting off to sleep. 

Jon woke two hours later, their limbs still tangled. The room was heavy with the smell of sex, and he wanted more. He had to leave his love in four days, and the thought made his heart clench. He wanted to be inside her every second until he left. 

Sansa lay facing him, with her arms wrapped around his chest. He stroked her cheek and leaned in for a soft kiss; he felt a pang of guilt for waking her, but there would be time enough for sleep once the army left. 

Sansa stirred, happy to wake to her husband’s kisses, and the feeling of his hard cock pressed against her leg. She opened her eyes slowly, and smiled sweetly up at Jon. He reached between her legs, and was not surprised to find her wet. Something he loved about his beauty was her constant readiness for passion. 

She groaned into his neck, before wrapping her leg around his waist and turning him so she was on top. She teased her cunt with his cock, spreading her wetness around and rubbing her bud, before finally sinking down onto him. 

Jon growled as she took him inside her again and again, thrusting his hips up to meet hers. This time was frenzied, and Jon barely had time to admire the sight of his wife bouncing up and down on his cock, moaning for all the castle to hear, before he once again spilled inside her. 

Sasna collapsed on his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you, Jon,” she whispered. Jon sighed happily, and kissed her forehead, whispering, “I love you too, my sweet girl.” 

They were awakened two hours later by a servant knocking on the door. Jon called out that they would like a bath to be drawn for them in a half hour. Sansa had fallen asleep on Jon’s chest, and she rolled off him with a sigh. Jon rolled onto his side and pressed his cock against her arse. She wiggled against it, giggling. 

“Jon, we need to get up, we have to start the day- Oh…” Her voice trailed off as he pried her legs open and buried himself in her once more. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” he growled softly in her ear. Sansa’s whimpers turned into wails as he pounded into her before he spilled inside her with a grunt. 

She turned over to face him, and gave her husband a long, deep kiss, stroking his hair back from his face. She felt giddy, and burst into laughter. Jon raised his eyebrow before joining in. 

“Now we can get up, darling,” Jon said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing smut helps me relax ;) Anyone who's been in a wedding can relate, I'm sure. This week is very stressful! Hope you enjoyed! We'll get back to the plot in the next segment.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farewell

The night before the army was set to leave, Jon took Sansa several times: on the chair in front of the fireplace, against the wall, and finally in their bed. She insisted they sleep after the third time, for he needed to be sharp for battle. 

She nodded off, but he stayed up for most of the night, trying to memorize every feature of hers. He never wanted to forget her scent, her lips, her eyes… He needed to take these things into battle with him to keep himself strong. 

Sansa and Jon bid farewell privately; it would not be proper for their subjects to see them so emotional. They clung together as Sansa cried into his chest. Jon fought his tears but ultimately lost the battle, and he began to weep quietly into her hair. 

Sansa leaned her head back and stared into her husband’s deep brown eyes, praying to all the gods that she would see him again. Silently, she reached up to remove the ribbon that was in her hair, and pressed it into Jon’s hand. 

“I’ve been wearing this in my hair for the last week…” she started, before tears threatened to spill over her eyes again. “I hoped the scent of my hair would linger on it, and you could take it with you, and it would remind you of… of home…” Sansa couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, and she buried her head in Jon’s neck. 

“Shhh, sweet girl,” Jon whispered. “Thank you, I’ll keep it with me day and night. It’ll make me think of your soft hair, and how I love to watch you wash it…” Tears threatened again, but the hour of their departure was fast approaching, so he cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes tight. 

Jon stroked her hair and held her until Ser Davos tentatively knocked at the door. Jon cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently before resting his head against hers. “You are my world, Jon. Please come back to me,” Sansa whimpered. 

Jon kissed her again, and whispered, “I will, Sansa. I promise.” 

Finally, they broke apart, and walked out of their chambers, hand in hand. Ghost started to follow them out the door, and Jon stopped, and bent down so they were nose to nose. 

“I need you to take care of her for me, boy. Can you do that for me? Please protect her, and…” He lowered his head to whisper something in Ghost’s ear that sounded like “If there’s a babe, protect it as well.” Sansa blushed, and added that to her prayers: “Please, let me be with Jon’s child.”

Jon stood, and retook Sansa’s hand, and they made their way out to the courtyard. 

Jon hugged Arya goodbye, and bid Brienne farewell, thanking both of them for their pledges to keep Sansa safe. Sansa caught Arya and Gendry saying goodbye out of the corner of her eye, and her heart twinged. Tonight there would be two devastated Stark women in Winterfell.

Sansa grasped Jon’s hand as soon as he was finished bidding farewell to everyone. She wasn’t going to let him go until the very last minute. They approached Jon's horse, which stood next to Tormund. Sansa hugged the Wildling, and whispered in his ear, "Please, bring him back to me, Tormund." He had a soft spot for his fellow ginger, and nodded solemnly. 

Finally, the horns sounded, and the army started to march. Jon turned to Sansa one last time, and kissed her deeply. He rode off on his horse, and Sansa felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Winterfell after the army left

In the two moons after the army left Winterfell, Sansa forced herself to keep busy; it was the only way to prevent herself from falling into despair. The refugees from the Last Hearth and Karhold were keeping her quite occupied. 

Bran suggested shortly after Jon left that they dig a sort of moat with a mile radius around Winterfell, to keep stocked with kindling and firewood; should any members of the army of the dead reach Winterfell, this was, according to Bran, the best way to keep them safe. Sansa assumed this meant they would need it, which sent a chill up her spine.

This fortunately gave many of the refugees something to do; Lord Baelish, before his execution, had secured a large loan from the Iron Bank for the Starks, and this allowed them to purchase materials and, most importantly, food. 

She took on many additional handmaids and servants; all those who served at Karhold and the Last Hearth needed work, and she was happy to provide it. 

In addition to the moat of fire, she’d focused efforts on rebuilding and expanding the glass gardens, strengthening the walls and gates, and cutting down all the trees around the castle, aside from the Godswood. They would need the firewood, and she didn’t want there to be anywhere for the dead to hide. 

She also set all the women in the castle and in Wintertown to the task of knitting and sewing; only Brienne and Arya were excused from this. She appointed Arya to her Queensguard, and named Brienne the captain. Arya had told her in private that she didn’t wish to be in command; as long as she could do whatever she wanted to keep Sansa safe, she was content.

Arya and Brienne spent most of their days training young girls in combat. Sansa felt safe enough walking around the castle with just Ghost as her guard, for now. Some of the wildling women assisted with the training as well; they had all wished to join the army, but Jon and Sansa insisted that a small force remain at Winterfell to protect it. 

Sansa had been keeping herself so busy she didn’t notice her absent moonblood until two cycles had passed. She realized this one night as she bathed, and noticed her breasts had begun to swell. 

Sansa dressed quickly, and, disregarding the late hour, rushed to Sam and Gilly’s chambers. She knew it wasn’t protocol - he should’ve been summoned to her - but she didn’t care. She had to know for sure. 

“Sam!” She called, knocking on his door. Sam opened the door, perplexed. Gilly and Little Sam were seated at the table, eating dinner. 

“Yes, your Grace?” Sam asked. "I’m sorry to disturb you, Sam. But I have an urgent matter I need attended to. Would you mind?” She gestured for him to follow her, and he did. 

Sansa shut her chamber doors behind them. “Sam, I... I think I might be with child.” 

Sam’s eyes grew large. “Are you certain, your Grace?” 

Sansa frowned at him. “Sam, haven’t I told you to call me Sansa in private? You’re my husband’s dearest friend. But to answer your question, I’m not certain. I think I need your help to know for sure.” 

Sam smiled at her, and said, “Yes, your- yes, Sansa. I can help.” 

Sansa sighed happily. “I haven’t bled since Jon and I married. I hadn’t noticed until tonight, I’ve been so busy, I assumed it was stress. I didn’t want to let myself hope, but… It should’ve come twice now.” 

Sam beamed. “Would you mind if I had Gilly join me to perform a cursory exam? I learned at the Citadel, but she has far more experience with this.” Sansa nodded, and Sam rushed to fetch her. 

Gilly and Sam confirmed Sansa’s suspicions, to her great elation. 

“Sansa, you must be careful,” Gilly cautioned. “You have to take great care, especially for the next month. This is the most dangerous time for the life you carry inside you.” 

“When can I announce this?” Sansa asked.

Gilly looked at Sam to respond. “I’d wait until next month. Once you are out of your third moon, it will be much safer.” 

Sansa nodded. “Thank you, Sam. And you, Gilly.” She disregarded protocol yet again, and hugged the both of them. 

Once they left her, Sansa sank into bed, Ghost at her side, as she rubbed her stomach. 

“It’s just you and me, little one. We’re going to be alright, and your father will come home to us.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's life at the camp

Jon was miserable at the camp outside the Last Hearth. All he wanted was to go home and be in bed with his wife; his soft bed, cradling his soft wife’s face in his hands, sliding in and out of her soft body…

Instead, he had a cot in a tent, surrounded by soldiers, with the dead likely to strike at any moment.

Their nightly war councils were almost always tense; death was around the corner, and his chief ally had tried to execute him. When he argued with Daenerys, it didn't feel like his arguments with Sansa. There was no love beneath the surface, just anger.

The army was able to defeat the first wave of wights, aided by the scrolls Bran sent whenever he could. 

Jon sat in his tent after the latest war council, stewing over words he and Daenerys had shouted at each other. He knew it would be tense between them after what happened, but he wasn’t expecting this level of animosity. 

“Just because your sneaky wife stole the North for you doesn’t make you MY king, Jon!” Daenerys had yelled. “You do not command me, or my dragons!” 

Jon rubbed his hands over his face. Daenerys hadn’t gotten that rude before, but it didn’t surprise him. He sat on his cot, trying to regroup. They needed to make the right decision, and they needed to make it quickly. The army of the dead was approaching quickly. 

“Your Grace? I’m sorry for disturbing you. There was a raven from Winterfell,” Jon’s squire said outside his tent. 

“Come in.” 

The words on the scroll made Jon happier than he’d been since they left his home. 

“My darling Jon, I’m so happy to tell you that I’m with child. Sam and Gilly confirmed my suspicions this evening, and estimate I’m about 9 weeks along. This might be a wedding night babe, sweet husband. I am well despite the typical illness associated with pregnancy. I love you with all my heart, Sansa.” 

Jon rolled the scroll back up and clutched it to his heart. His wife, pregnant with his child, and they were both safe and healthy. He couldn’t stop himself from crying, nor did he wish to. 

Relief washed over Jon like waves crashing on a beach. He needed to get home to them, but even if he fell, gods forbid, Sansa would not be alone. The Stark line would live on, and she would have a piece of him. 

Maybe she'll have a boy, and he'll look like her. "We could call him Robb..." Jon thought happily.

“Your Grace?” Ser Davos asked. “I saw the squire come in, I wondered if it was from your cousin Bran.” 

Jon looked up at his advisor, with tears still on his cheeks. “Not from Bran,” Jon rasped. “From Sansa. She’s with child.” 

Ser Davos broke into a rare smile. “Congratulations, your Grace! What wonderful news. I hope this will lift the spirits of everyone on the war council. Gods know we need it.” 

Jon shook his head ruefully. “I’m not sure it will please everyone, but it certainly gives me an extra thing to fight for. I need to get home to them, Ser Davos.” 

The Onion Knight rested his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You will, my king. I promise you that.” 

Jon informed the council the next day. Congratulations went around, and Daenerys even smiled at him. “Both are healthy?” she asked. “Aye, Sansa said aside from the usual illness, she’s well.” Jon replied. 

Daenerys walked over to him and gave his hand a squeeze. “Congratulations, Jon. You will make a wonderful father.” 

Jon looked into Daenerys’s violet eyes. They were watery, and he pulled her into an awkward hug. “Thank you, Daenerys.” 

After that, the war council got slightly more amiable. Daenerys knew that if she couldn’t have children, Sansa’s child with Jon would be the heir to the Iron Throne, and that child needed to be protected at all costs. She had to set aside her wounded pride, or else all her hard work would have been for nothing. 

Tyrion suggested a toast, naturally, and once they’d had a drink in honor of Sansa’s pregnancy, they got back to work. It was decided that Jon would ride Rhaegal to scout the area, with Daenerys on Drogon nearby, should the Night King attack. 

“Do not fall, your Grace,” Daenerys murmured as they readied for departure, “Your wife and child need you.” 

Jon nodded, then mounted the green dragon and flew off.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heir to Winterfell arrives

A month passed before Sansa heard from Jon. The raven arrived early in the day, and carried a scroll that brought the queen such joy. 

“Sweet, beautiful Sansa:  
Words cannot say how thrilled I was to get your message. I cannot wait to meet our babe, and to hold you in my arms. I’m so sorry it’s taken so long for me to get this to you, it’s been extremely busy here, but we’re making good progress. I keep your ribbon tied to my wrist at all times.  
I love you, Jon.” 

Sansa wept tears of relief. He was still alive, thank the Gods. She clutched the scroll and ran down the hall to Arya’s chambers, not bothering to knock. 

“Arya, are you awake?” Sansa called as she walked in. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

Arya was in the bath, and Sansa couldn’t help but notice the huge scar across her abdomen. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you to it, Arya,” Sansa stammered. 

“You’ve seen it already, Sansa. Might as well stay,” Arya said darkly. “It happened in Braavos. The person who did it is dead now.” 

Sansa sat on Arya’s bed, still holding the scroll. She wasn't sure how to respond, as was so often the case with both of her siblings now. “Jon wrote back,” Sansa said quietly. 

“That’s good, I could tell it was making you crazy to not hear from him.” 

“He says they’re making progress.” 

“Anything else?” 

Sansa blushed. “Well, he says he wears my ribbon around his wrist at all times, and he can’t wait to come home and meet the babe.” 

Arya fought back an eye roll. Sansa had been especially emotional recently, and Arya was not in the mood for another meltdown. She hoped the maesters were wrong, and that Sansa would give birth sooner than they estimated. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take this. 

~~~

The next six months flew by. Sansa stayed busy with refugees, building up Winterfell’s defenses, coordinating supplies, and resting. Gods, she was tired all the time. She would lie in bed at night, whispering and singing to her baby. He didn’t stay still for long, always bouncing around. It was only when she sang to him that he stilled. 

“I hope you’re a boy, sweet child. But I’ll love you no matter what. Just come soon, okay?” Sansa whispered one night. 

The child must’ve heard her, because in the middle of the night, cries emerged from her room. Brienne charged in, sword drawn, with Ghost at her heels. “Your Grace? What is it?” Brienne called. 

“Brienne, ahhh, um, please fetch Sam and Gilly,” Sansa moaned. 

“Right away, your Grace.” 

Sam and Gilly hurried in, and confirmed it was time. Arya and the other maester were summoned, as were all of Sansa’s handmaids. 

She’d never known this kind of pain; Gilly tried to prepare her, but nothing compared to experiencing it herself. 

“This child is trying to kill me!” she would wail during most contractions. Arya considered herself strong but Sansa’s grip was crushing her hand. 

The pain seemed endless. No matter how hard Sansa pushed, how many tears she cried, it wasn’t enough. Sam and Gilly took turns coaching her, but even Gilly could see the fight leaving her eyes after the 25th hour. Gilly laid next to her on the bed, and turned her queen’s face towards hers. 

“Sansa, listen to me,” Gilly started. “You have to keep going. You are almost there, I promise you, but you have to push just a little bit more. Just three more pushes should do it, and your baby will be here.” Sansa whimpered. “I want my mother, Gilly!” 

Gilly kissed her forehead. She’d never dared to be so affectionate with the queen before, but this process knew no rank or station; they were women, and they were fighting the battle together. 

“She’s here with you, Sansa, I promise,” Gilly whispered in her ear. “Now, let’s get this baby out, shall we?” Sansa nodded weakly. Arya helped her sit up straighter, murmuring in her ear, “Mother is here with us, Sansa, alright? She is. She did this five times, you can do this.” 

Sansa wanted to cry, but didn’t think there were any tears left, so she just wailed as she pushed and pushed and pushed until she heard Gilly yell, “it’s a boy!” 

Sansa sank back on her pillows, feeling more relief wash over her than she’d ever felt. “Wait, why isn’t he-” 

Before she could finish the sentence, her son started howling. Gilly wiped him off, and laid him on Sansa’s chest. 

Sansa couldn’t believe it; he was such a little thing, all scrawny and pink and wrinkled, with tufts of red hair poking out of his head. Gods, what a shriek he had. 

Arya rested her head on Sansa’s shoulder and stared at her nephew. “I remember Mother said Robb was the loudest of all of us when he was born.” 

Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off her son. “Well, that’s perfect. You’ll be just like your namesake, won’t you my sweet Robb?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as detailed as I would've liked, but I really want to get the story line moving again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word from Winterfell

Jon and the army had chased most of the army of the undead back towards the wall. From Bran’s reports, it looked like no more than a quarter of the wights and perhaps only the Night King and a couple of his lieutenants remained. 

“What if Drogon and Rhaegal have to take down Viserion, Jon?” Daenerys asked him quietly after a war council meeting. Jon shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Daenerys, I really don’t. That might be the only way to stop him.” 

They’d taken to using first names when it was just the two of them in private; a small bit of ice thawed between them when news of Sansa’s pregnancy arrived. 

Daenerys sighed deeply and sank onto her cot. “If I lose all three of my children… all of my dragons… What good is a dragon queen with no dragons?” 

The thought of losing her other two children made her want to rip her heart from her body. She’d been with them the moment they were born; nobody else believed they could exist again, nobody except her. She watched them grow from tiny babies into the giant creatures that soared above her now. She couldn’t lose them… not her last two...

Jon knelt in front of her, and rested his hand on her shoulder. “It still leaves a queen with a good heart who cares about her people,” he murmured. 

Daenerys let out a strange combination of a sob and laugh. “How can you say that, after I tried to burn you alive?” 

Jon smiled. “I didn’t say you were perfect.” He stood, and walked towards the table. “I’ll write to Bran and ask if he has any suggestions on how to take Viserion down without sacrificing Drogon and Rhaegal.” 

Daenerys nodded. “Thank you, Jon.” 

Just then, a messenger arrived, bringing more news from Winterfell. 

“I have a son,” Jon whispered. Daenerys stood, and gave him a hug. “What of Sansa, is she well?” she asked nervously. 

“Aye, she is. She named him Robb, after her brother,” Jon added. He began to weep, and Daenerys hugged him again. “Congratulations, Jon. I hope you get to meet him soon.” Jon held the hug for a moment, taking in the news. 

He felt like he could soar as high as the dragons, touching the sky and seeing the world from above. He was a father! He could be the father he never had, and Sansa, oh the mother Sansa would be. And she was well, he had not lost her in the process, like so many women had been lost.

He cleared his throat, and excused himself. He quickly scratched out a note to Bran, requesting assistance, before sitting down to compose a full message to Sansa. He’d never been any good with words, so it took multiple attempts to get his sentiments properly written out.

“My own sweet wife,  
Thank the gods you are alright, and that you brought our son into the world. I love the name you have chosen. I hope to meet him soon, and to hold you in my arms. I miss the smell of your hair, the sound of your voice, the blue of your eyes. I miss sleeping with you in my arms, and waking up to your kisses.  
I will be with you soon, Sansa. I promise.  
All my love, Jon.” 

He kissed the paper before rolling it up and giving it to his squire to send to Winterfell. 

Bran’s response arrived quicker than Sansa’s, and suggested they construct similar contraptions to the one Qyburn created that wounded Drogon. These would have spears of dragon glass, and the idea was to build several, so they could surround Viserion. 

In case that failed, and they were truly desperate, Bran suggested Daenerys carry a spear on Drogon’s back and simply charge at Viserion in the sky. Jon kept that suggestion to himself. 

Sansa’s note came later, via messenger rather than raven. She’d enclosed a small lock of her hair, as well as their son’s, so he could see he was kissed by fire. 

“Dear Jon,  
I wanted you to have a bit of my hair, as well as Robb’s, to remind you of home, and what you have to look forward to. Robb is healthy, and happy, and Gods does he have a strong set of lungs. His hair is curly, like yours, and I think it will darken over time, until it’s a shade closer to Mother’s. He gives me about as much rest as he gave me in the final month of my pregnancy, which is to say hardly any at all. Arya keeps insisting I should hire a wet nurse, but I just cannot bring myself to.  
Please hurry home, Jon. I miss you so much.  
Love, Sansa.” 

Jon smiled like a fool, from ear to ear, as he touched the hair she’d sent. He needed this war to end now. His family needed him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News from the front

Sansa was eating supper in her solar with Arya, with little Robb resting in the cradle, when a messenger burst through the door, Brienne hot on his heels. She was yelling about protocol, but the messenger’s letter could not wait. 

He knelt before his queen. “I beg forgiveness, my Queen, for my impertinence. But the letter I carry could not wait.” He placed the letter on the table, and bowed before departing.

Sansa’s hand started to shake, and Arya grabbed it. Their eyes met, and Arya urged her silently to open it. 

Sansa reached for the letter gingerly, as if she expected it to bite her. “It’s from Queen Daenerys.. The war has been won...” Arya smiled, but waited to hear the bad news… surely a messenger wouldn’t have arrived so urgently if something hadn’t gone wrong. 

“No!” Sansa cried. She dropped the letter and buried her face in her hands, bursting into tears. Arya picked it up and started reading. 

“Queen Sansa,  
I write to you with a happy yet heavy heart. The war has been won; we struck down the last of the undead yesterday. A portion of the army has been sent north of what used to be the wall to be certain. 

King Jon was seriously injured during this final battle. The Night King struck him with his spear before his Grace ripped him apart with Longclaw. However, His Grace’s wounds have yet to heal, and we fear they will begin to fester. He has not been conscious for a day and a night. 

I urge you, Sansa, please come see him before it is too late. We are approximately a three days ride from Winterfell. We shall do all we can to keep him among the living until you arrive.”

Arya let the letter fall to the floor. She let herself falter for only a moment before springing into action. She shook Sansa’s arm, saying, “Sansa, look at me. You have to pick your head up, come now.” 

Sansa lifted her head, still crying, to face her sister. 

“Sansa, we need to leave now.” 

“What? Arya, you read the letter, by the time we get there it’ll be too late!” 

“Are you really going to dismiss a chance to see your husband in the off chance that you miss him? Come on, we need to get ready. Pack your things, and get Little Robb ready.” 

“Arya, he’s only three months old, and it’s the dead winter!” Sansa sobbed. 

Arya took her sister by both shoulders and shook her gently. 

“Listen to me, Sansa. Jon needs to see his boy. You have to give him a chance.” 

Sansa’s breathing slowed, and she stared up at her sister, nodding slightly. 

“Alright, get Robb ready, I’ll send for Brienne and ten members of the Queensguard. I’ll also tell Bran what’s happening, although he probably already knows.” 

Arya scurried out the door, and Sansa’s trance broke. She dressed in the warmest clothes she could find, and bundled her still sleeping baby in as many furs as she could. 

Ghost started to follow Sansa around, whining. She stopped and patted his head. “Don’t worry, you’re coming too.” 

Once she’d gathered Robb, and a bag of clothes, she went to look for Sam. She arrived at the chambers he shared with Gilly, and it sounded like something amorous might’ve been happening. 

“Sam!” She cried, pounding on the door. “Sam, this is an emergency, I need you straight away, it’s about Jon!” 

Sansa could hear Gilly whining, but Sam appeared at the door seconds later. 

“What’s happened?” Sam asked, the panic in his eyes clear as day. 

“Jon has been gravely wounded, and may not survive. Arya and I are going to see him, and I need you to come with us. You have saved people from worse. Please, Sam.” 

Sam nodded solemnly, and said, “Give me two minutes, your Grace.” 

Within the half hour, Arya, Sam, Ghost, Brienne, and ten members of Sansa’s Queensguard rode out of Winterfell, with Sansa and Robb in a carriage riding close behind.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An addition to Sansa's traveling party

Sansa was jolted awake when her carriage came to an abrupt halt. They’d been riding for two days, with just a couple of six hour rests for the horses. She’d tried to stay awake longer, but after nursing Robb and getting him to settle, she’d succumbed to the exhaustion. 

“Who goes there?” she heard Brienne shout. Sansa heard a woman’s voice that sounded familiar shout back, but she couldn’t quite place it. 

Arya opened the carriage door and stepped in. 

“Sansa, the red woman is here. Melisandre.” She looked like she was ready to take another name off her list immediately. 

Sansa rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What do you mean she’s here? I thought Jon banished her.” 

Robb stirred, and started to whimper. “Shhh, Robb, shhh, everything’s fine, please go back to sleep,” she pleaded. 

Arya scowled. “She said she needs to speak with you. I don’t trust her.” 

Sansa stood with a wince. Riding in a carriage for two days straight had made her sore to the bone, she didn’t know how her escorts were still managing to sit upright. Arya protested, but Sansa waved her off. 

“I know you and Brienne will cut her down before she can do anything, Arya.” Sansa sighed, and stepped out of the carriage, still clutching Robb. 

Melisandre curtsied. “Your Grace.” 

“What are you doing here?” Sansa asked. She knew she ought to be more polite, but her queenly demeanor left her behind the moment she learned her husband might die. 

The red woman rose, and met Sansa’s eyes. “I saw in the flames that his Grace was in peril, and I’ve come to lend assistance.” She started to walk toward Sansa. 

Arya stepped in front, drawing Needle. “I remember you. You took Gendry from the Brotherhood. You’re not getting any closer to my sister and nephew.” 

Melisandre paused. “I remember you as well. That was long ago, before a girl became No One. Before a girl shut the eyes of dozens of individuals forever. Tell me, Arya Stark, how is it that a girl managed to arrive back at Winterfell?” 

Arya felt ice run down her spine. Not much rattled her anymore, but this woman insinuating she knew all she’d done since they met last froze her in place. 

Sansa moved to stand next to Arya. “We don’t have time for this. What do you mean you came to help Jon?” 

Melisandre finally broke the stare she’d been directing into Arya’s eyes to meet the queen’s. 

“Your Grace, I was the one who brought Jon back when his brothers stabbed him to death. The flames told me I may be needed for that service again.” 

Sansa felt her knees buckle, and Arya reached out to steady her. Sansa cleared her throat. “My husband banished you from the North, did he not, my lady?” 

“He did, your Grace. I came here knowing it would put my own life at risk. I am ready to die in order to save the Prince who was Promised.” 

Arya rolled her eyes, but Sansa seemed to take the red woman seriously. If there was even a chance she could assist… 

“Very well. You may ride with us, and you are under my protection until we arrive. I make no promises once we arrive at the camp.” 

Arya felt fury bubble up within her. “Sansa! She-” 

Sansa cut her off. “We can discuss this later. If she can help Jon, I want her with us, for now.” 

“But-” 

“Arya,” Sansa hissed. Arya met her sister’s eyes, and saw her own fury reflected in them. For all the sorrow and fear Arya had been feeling, surely her sister was feeling it all the more intensely. This was her husband after all. Once this witch saved Jon, surely Sansa wouldn’t stop her from crossing the name off her list. 

Arya lowered her eyes, and Sansa nodded at Melisandre. Robb started wailing, and Sansa settled back in the carriage with a sigh. She knocked on the roof when she was more or less comfortable, and progress resumed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arrives at camp

Sansa could smell the camp before they arrived at the perimeter. It smelled like death and fear and rotting limbs… She could feel the soldiers’ emotions in the air without looking out the carriage window: the happiness over the war being over, mixed with sorrow over fallen companions, and terror induced by seeing the army of the dead firsthand.

It was a good thing, she tried to remind herself; they’d won the war. The Night King was defeated, and the North was safe, as was all of Westeros. Daenerys could oust Cersei easily now, and take the Iron Throne, and she would leave the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands alone.

She’d let her mind wander en route, thinking about how she could rebuild the North. She remembered thinking to herself as a young girl that if she were ever queen, she would make her people love her, and she had achieved that. Her people loved her, of that there could be no doubt.

It wasn’t enough, though. She wanted to make them feel safe again, to help see them through the remainder of the winter. There were glass gardens to be constructed, and holdfasts to be rebuilt… There was so much to do, and she had all too recently given birth… It was too much for her to handle alone. She needed Jon. 

Sansa splashed water on her face, and attempted to straighten her hair as they approached the camp. She knew she looked as exhausted as she felt, but she was still the Queen in the North. She smoothed her clothes, and placed her crown on her head, a last minute addition to her traveling kit. 

Sansa felt bile rising in her throat as she stepped from the carriage; the stench was overwhelming, it filled her nostrils and mouth, and wrapped a foul-smelling cloak around her. She stepped over discarded food and weapons and body parts as she picked her way across the field, clutching Robb to her chest. 

The largest tent in the center of the camp seemed to be where everyone was heading, and soldiers bowed and kneeled for their queen as she approached. 

Ser Davos greeted her first, kneeling deeply and kissing her hand. “My Queen,” he murmured. He rose and met her eyes with warmth and concern. “He is still among the living, your grace.” Sansa nodded, and stepped forward before remembering Melisandre. 

“Ser Davos,” she said quietly. “Yes, your grace?” “The red woman, Melisandre, she is in our party. She met us on the road and indicated that she might be of assistance for Jon.” 

Rage flashed in the onion knight’s eyes, and he started to protest, before quieting. Sansa’s wearied, pleading face must have silenced him, for she no longer had the strength to speak. 

Daenerys and Tyrion had emerged from the large tent, and the grim expressions across their faces told Sansa what she needed to know. He was not long for this world, her sweet Jon. The white cloak Daenerys departed from Winterfell wearing was now caked in blood and mud, her hair was a mess, and she appeared to have been crying. 

Sansa steeled herself, and approached. Daenerys walked up to her, and kissed her cheek. Sansa drew back, startled. 

“Apologies, your grace, I fear I’ve been awake for quite some time, and my manners seem to have flown for a moment,” Daenerys muttered. 

Sansa met her eyes, and felt dread surge through her body. “He’s in there?” she asked quietly. Daenerys nodded. Arya had walked up beside Sansa, with Brienne, Sam and Melisandre close behind. They remained outside as Sansa walked in. Robb, who had been crying since they left the carriage, quieted all of a sudden. 

“Oh, Jon,” Sansa murmured. He was alone, save for the presence of the maester, who rose quickly to bow before sitting by the king’s side again. 

"Has he woken at all, maester?" she asked. 

“His eyes have opened once or twice, your grace,” the maester replied, as he walked towards her. “He did not speak, but he did look around the room. We have done everything we can, your grace.” 

Sansa nodded. “Samwell Tarly accompanied us, if you wouldn’t mind informing him of the measures you’ve taken? I’d hoped he might help, but if you feel you’ve exhausted all options...” The maester nodded, and left the tent.

Robb’s eyes seemed to take in the room, and as Sansa approached Jon’s cot, he started to coo, as if he knew his father was near. 

Sansa walked slowly towards her husband. His torso and legs were covered in a fur, but his chest was bare, and she could see the bandages covering his wound. He was so pale, he almost looked like a corpse. 

She rested Robb on a pile of furs next to the cot, and sat on the stool the maester had been occupying, taking Jon’s hand in hers. 

“Gods, Jon,” she sobbed. She felt like her lungs were filled with seawater, like she was being dragged to the bottom of the ocean as wave after wave of tears spilled from her eyes. She rested her head against his shoulder, kissing his burning skin, and remained like that until she heard Robb start to whimper. 

Sansa leaned over to scoop him up. “Robb, this is your papa,” she whispered as she placed his head next to Jon’s. “Say ‘Hello Papa!’” She tried to sound cheerful, but her voice broke into a million pieces as she pressed Robb's mouth to his father's cheek. 

Jon stirred, a motion so slight Sansa thought she imagined it at first, until his eyes opened just a tad. She pulled Robb back into her chest, and stroked the hair from Jon’s forehead. 

“It’s me, Jon, it’s Sansa. I brought Robb with me, he wanted to meet his papa,” she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes once more. 

Jon’s eyes opened a bit more, and his brow furrowed. “S- Sansa?” he rasped. 

“Yes, darling, I’m here. So is Robb.” She held Robb up so Jon could see him better, and Jon’s face broke into a slight smile. He turned his head slightly so he could look at his wife. She grasped his hand with her free one, and leaned down to kiss his lips gently. 

“I love you, Jon,” she murmured. He met her eyes once more before closing them, the slight smile still on his face. His face relaxed, and Sansa heard him take a few short breaths before stilling completely. 

Sansa wailed, Robb joining her. Daenerys and Arya rushed in, with Melisandre and Davos behind them. 

“Sansa,” Arya whispered. 

“He’s gone,” Sansa choked out. Arya moved to sit on Jon’s other side, and kissed his forehead. 

Sansa felt the walls of the tent closing in around her, and she stood, perhaps too quickly for her knees buckled and she felt herself falling towards the ground. Her eyes shut before she landed on the pile of furs.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate aftermath of Jon's death

“Your Grace!”

Sansa heard Ser Davos’ voice as if it were far away, joined by panicked shrieks from others she couldn't identify. 

She felt her arms being pulled, and she snapped back into consciousness. Robb was in Daenerys’s arms, and Ser Davos steadied Sansa so she sat upright.

Melisandre walked towards Arya to stand next to Jon. Arya drew Needle. “Don't come near him, witch!” Ghost came barreling into the tent and stood next to Arya, baring his teeth. 

“You don't frighten me, wolf girl,” Melisandre replied coolly. “Nor do you, Ghost. I have work to do.” She looked towards Sansa, waiting for her approval.

“Sansa, no! Don't let her do this,” Daenerys cautioned. “I trusted a witch to save my husband once and she killed him and my son. Only death pays for life!”

“I'd argue caution as well, your grace,” Ser Davos added. “This woman sacrificed a little girl for an ill-fated cause, she's the mother of demons!”

Sansa felt the air squeezing out of her lungs, like grief had a stranglehold on her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to block them all out. 

Sansa transported herself to their wedding night, probably the night they made Robb. Jon held her so gently, kissed her so deeply, loved her so passionately… she thought of his dark brown eyes staring into hers as he rolled into her, like he was trying to memorize every part of her face. 

She remembered how they fell asleep each night they were together, limbs tangled, clutching each other like a drowning person clings to a piece of driftwood. She’d had so few moments with him, she needed more. She wanted a lifetime with her husband, and she wanted Robb to have a father…

Robb’s cries jolted her from her reverie. Everyone stared at her, waiting to see what she did.

“Give him to me, Daenerys. Please everyone, leave me with my husband and son.” They all turned to exit, but as Melisandre headed out of the tent, she called her back in.

“Your grace…” she started, but Sansa waved her off.

“I do not know you, my lady. All I know is what I've been told, and the little I observed while we prepared to retake winterfell.”

Melisandre nodded. Sansa cleared her throat and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“How did it work? When you brought him back before?”

The red woman looked surprised. “I… I cannot say for certain, your grace. I cannot even promise it would work this time.”

Robb fussed, and Sansa took out her breast to feed him. “It’s alright, darling, there you go,” she whispered.

She straightened her back and looked at Melisandre. “What would it cost?” she asked calmly.

“It didn't cost him anything before. He may come back with less vigor, maybe less virility…”

“You mean we may not be able to make more children?” Sansa asked, more tears forming in her eyes. She wanted so many more babies with Jon… 

“Perhaps. I've only met one other man who was brought back to life, and I didn't have the chance to ask.” Melisandre moved to kneel in front of Sansa.

“My queen, please listen to me. I cannot promise it will work, and I’m not entirely sure I'll even survive the process, but you should still let me try.”

“Will it do anything to Robb?” Sansa asked, a tear spilling down her cheek.

Melisandre shook her head. “This isn't blood magic like the witch used on Queen Daenerys’s husband.”

She put a hand on Sansa’s arm. “Your Grace, I know the things I have done does not instill confidence. I can never make amends for the mistakes I made. But I did save him once before. Please let me try now.”

Sansa sighed, and stared into the woman’s eyes. They told of exhaustion, and heartbreak, and just the slightest bit of hope.

Finally, she nodded. 

“Thank you, Queen Sansa.”

“May I stay with him?” Sansa asked as she stood. 

Melisandre nodded. “You may want to have your sister take care of the baby, though. When he came back last, it was very guttural and loud. That could startle your son.”

Sansa ducked out of the tent and handed her baby to Arya. “Arya, go with Daenerys into her tent, and take Robb and Brienne. I just fed him, please burp him and keep him warm. Sam, Ser Davos, with me.”

Arya took Robb but looked furious. “Sansa, let him go. You don't know what that woman could do!”

Sansa looked at Daenerys imploringly. Surely she would understand, she had risked everything for her husband, long ago. She begged her silently, “Please try to understand, I cannot live without him.” Daenerys’s frown softened at last, and she bowed her head.

“Come, Lady Arya. You'll be comfortable in my tent.” 

Arya scowled, but relented, and walked with the dragon queen. Sansa took Sam’s arm and walked back into the tent.

“Ser Davos, I presume you won't interfere with this? It was your idea the first time,” Melisandre murmured, not taking her eyes off the task at hand.

“No, my lady. It’s what my Queen has commanded,” he replied coolly.

Sansa sat on the pile of furs on Jon’s left, with Sam standing next to her. Ser Davos stood behind Ghost on Jon’s right.

Melisandre washed his chest, and cut his hair, before reciting her incantations and pressing on his chest. It seemed to take forever, and Sansa could feel her hope slipping away the longer it took.

“Why was I so stupid to trust this?” She thought. “I thought I'd grown up, but I'm still just a stupid little girl with stupid dreams…”

She let out a sob, and Sam knelt, offering his shoulder for comfort. She looked at him gratefully before resting her head.

Finally, Melisandre stilled. She looked at Sansa desperately, sorrowfully, admitting defeat. 

“No!” Sansa cried into Sam’s shoulder.

“I am so sorry my queen,” Melisandre murmured before hurrying out of the tent. Ser Davos followed after her, and Sansa picked her head up off of Sam’s shoulder. 

“Leave me with him, Sam,” Sansa whispered. Sam nodded, and walked out.

Ghost stayed at the side where he’d been guarding his master.

Sansa straightened her dress, and curled up next to Jon on the cot, throwing her arm around his middle and nestling her face into the crook of his neck. She let her tears fall freely, sobbing into his cold skin. 

“Jon, please come back to me, please!” she cried. “Please, our son needs you, I need you, please don’t leave me.” 

Sansa continued to cry into his shoulder, until she had no tears left. She started to nod off, her body wracked with grief and unable to function any longer. 

She was jolted awake when Jon gasped and shook, crying out her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little cliche perhaps, but c'est la vie. Thanks to Erin (ehhhhrin.tumblr.com) for reading & giving feedback :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion

The force of Jon’s resurrection knocked Sansa off the cot, and she let out a yelp as she landed with a hard thump. She scrambled to her knees, and stared at her husband as he sat up, taking in the room around him. 

“Jon!” she whispered as she placed her hand on his arm. “Jon, it’s alright, you’re safe.” 

Jon stared at her for a while, until the realization hit him that he had come back to life yet again, and Sansa had been waiting for him. 

He grabbed her wordlessly, pulling her into his lap so she straddled him, and wrapped his arms around her so tightly she gasped for air. He buried his face in her breasts, and let the tears fall as she stroked his hair and whispered soothing words in his ear. 

They rested like that for quite a while, until Jon pulled his head back and stared into her sweet blue eyes. “Sansa,” he breathed, before pressing his lips to hers. They tasted like salt, and she let out a whimper. 

His face felt wet, and he realized she was crying softly. Sansa broke the kiss with a sob, staring at him in disbelief. Her body shook as she let out sob after sob, her face pressed to his chest, thanking every god out there that he’d been returned to her. Jon ran his fingers through her hair, and tried to piece everything together.

How was he here? Had Melisandre brought him back? He vaguely remembered seeing Sansa before the darkness swallowed him up again, but he didn’t remember anyone else being around. 

Sansa finally quieted, and Jon put his hand under her chin, tilting it up to look at him. Just as he was about to kiss her again, he heard a baby’s cries getting closer to the tent.

“Sansa?” Arya called out softly before walking in. “JON!” She cried out, making Robb scream louder. Sansa scooted off Jon’s lap and reached out her arms for the baby, where Arya hurriedly deposited him before heaving herself into Jon. 

Sansa gave them a few minutes before summoning the others. Her private celebration with her husband would have to commence later.

~~~

They returned to Winterfell amidst great fanfare; everyone came out to welcome the resurrected King in the North and his queen.

Gilly agreed to watch over Robb the first couple nights back, so Sansa and Jon could reunite properly. Once she'd deposited her son in Gilly’s chambers, Sansa walked towards her chambers, where Jon was supposed to be resting.

Jon laid beneath several blankets, his chest bare and hair strewn across his face. Sansa stripped naked and climbed under the blankets with him, tucking herself under his arm and throwing her leg over his. She’d missed his face so much, and the thought of having lost him… tears threatened again, but she swallowed them down. 

“You’re going to want to have your eyes open for this, your grace,” she purred in his ear, nibbling his earlobe. Jon smiled when he heard her voice, and opened his eyes slowly.

“Much better.”

Sansa ran her hands up and down his stomach and ground herself on his leg as he continued to wake up. She kissed and bit his neck, working her hips faster and whining in his ear, until he turned and slid on top of her. 

Jon wrapped his arms under her back and pressed their chests together, gazing into her eyes hungrily. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she leaned up slightly until their lips finally touched. 

They devoured each other’s mouths like a starving man devours a meal, teeth and lips and tongues crashing against each other until Jon reached down and slid inside her in one motion. Sansa cried out at feeling full and complete again, it had been so long and she ached for him every day. 

She whimpered and whined as he drove into her again and again, and let out a wail when he rubbed against her pearl feverishly, driving her to her first and then second peak until he cried out, filling her with his seed and collapsing on top of her. Sansa smoothed the hair from his brow and kissed his temple softly, before murmuring, “Don’t you ever leave me again, Jon Stark.” 

Jon lifted his head and smiled. “Never, Sansa. I promise.” 

~~~

Four years later...

“Push, your grace! You’re almost there!” 

Sansa shrieked as she tore her body inside out; it had been four years since Robb was born, how did she manage to forget the pain? 

“Three more should do it, your grace!” 

She pushed again, and again, and again, cursing her husband for getting her pregnant, cursing everyone in the room and everyone who had ever lived. 

Jon sat behind her, and he could feel the bones in his hand crunching as Sansa squeezed harder and harder. 

“You’re doing so well, Sansa,” he murmured in her ear. “Shut up Jon, seven hells!” she screamed. 

She gave one last push with a blood-curdling shriek. “It’s a girl!” Gilly cried out. Sansa tried to lie back against Jon, but Sam stopped her. “Your grace, I don’t believe we’re done here.” 

Sansa wailed loudly. Sam told her a month earlier that he believed she was carrying twins, but she refused to believe it. 

Sam checked her progress, and assured her it wouldn’t take that much longer. “Gods damn it, Sam, why are you always right?” she yelled. 

She felt like the room was closing in around her as she finally pushed out her second daughter, and allowed herself to collapse against Jon’s chest. 

Jon smoothed the hair from her forehead and whispered how proud of her he was. Gilly and Sam walked over with the babies, and handed one to each. “You have two perfect princesses, your graces,” Sam said with a smile. 

Jon hadn’t held a baby that young before, Robb was three months old when he finally got to meet him. Sansa could see the panic in his eyes, and reassured him. “Don’t worry, darling, she won’t break.” Jon stared at his baby girl’s perfect, wrinkled, red little face, and the dark hair that crowned her head. 

Sansa pulled her breast out to feed the first baby, while Jon sat next to her on the bed, cradling the second. “What should we name them?” Jon asked, as they traded babies. 

“Do you want to name one after your mother, sweetheart?” 

Jon frowned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a reminder of the lie that clouded his life for so long, not when he looked at his brand new baby. 

Sansa saw the frown on his face, and shook her head. “Not that, then. I’d like to name one for Arya,” she murmured. “Maybe Arielle?” Jon leaned over to kiss Sansa’s cheek. “I love that,” he said happily. 

Jon looked at the baby in his arms. “Should one of them have a Targaryen name? Maybe Helaena or Alyssa?” He expected her to reject that idea immediately, but she seemed to consider it. 

“Hmm, I think I like Alyssa. She was a strong queen and well-loved. Arielle and Alyssa Stark.” Sansa and Jon looked at each other, then at their babies, and smiled. 

It had taken four years for Sansa to become pregnant again, and she suspected it would be her last pregnancy. Melisandre warned of potential difficulties in conceiving, and she’d been correct. But as Sansa stared at her twin girls, she decided she didn’t mind after all. Three would be just perfect. 

Robb came bounding into the room, with his septa not far behind, calling after him. He approached the bed shyly, until Jon slid out from behind Sansa and gestured for Robb to climb onto the bed. 

“Robb,” Jon said quietly, “These are your sisters, Arielle and Alyssa. You have to be very quiet, because they’re brand new, and you must be very gentle with them and your mama for a while.” 

Robb nodded his head. He was usually an energetic, rambunctious child, but he seemed to understand how serious he needed to be for this moment. He peered into the bundle in Sansa’s lap, and smiled. “Arielle,” he said quietly, “I’m your big brother, Robb! Nice to meet you.” Sansa felt her eyes brimming with tears as he repeated his introduction to Alyssa. She moved over slightly so Robb could squeeze in between her and Jon, and marvel over his baby sisters. 

Jon and Sansa looked at each other, the King and Queen in the North, and smiled so hard they thought their faces might break. They’d come so close to losing everything so many times over, and now they had finally reached the happiest moment of their lives together. The realm was at peace, they were all healthy, and their family was complete. Spring had finally arrived for the Starks, the North, and all of Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to leave Daenerys out of the final chapter, because at the end of the day, this was a story about Jon and Sansa. In my mind, she ruled the south with her husband Harry Hardyng and had one child, which meant Jon and Sansa didn't have to worry about her requiring one of their children to sit on the Iron Throne. Jon pardoned Melisandre for her crimes, and she took off her necklace and died of old age.
> 
> Thank you all SO much for reading and for all your support!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just processing last night's finale. I liked this idea and decided to go with it. 
> 
> Tumblr: https://asongforjonsa.tumblr.com


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